Temple Kick



She does not bow.
The dome still rings from the last prayer when the elf monk comes through the fire. Green eyes, silver hair, bare feet on sacred stone. The wrap and sash are for fighting, not ceremony. She is already in the air when you look up.
The kick arrives first. Sole, toes, heat. A warning written on skin.
“Leave the temple,” she snarls.
You have half a heartbeat to decide whether that foot is mercy or the last thing you ever see.


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Video made on mage.space